Mojave Dust
by Sheo
Summary: A boy's family was murdered by a pack of raiders, getting him placed in NCR government custody and eventually, filed into the military. A boy, who may have more to him than anyone thought.
1. Chapter 1 Life in the Desert

**Chapter 1: Life in the desert.**

All of us have our wars. Some are fought in the flesh. For some, it is a metaphorical war, fought in the mind. Some are personal, between two forces locked in combat. Some, are massive, with hundreds of combatants. But war, battle of all kinds... It leaves wounds, fresh in the body and the mind. You give yourself an excuse; a reason to keep fighting... But after it's over, the war you forced yourself into stays with you the rest of your life... Never relinquishing arms, but pressing onward to smash your adversary's corpse in your mind long after you're out of ammo. It's this battle that consumes soldiers; for once a soldier, forever a soldier. This, is the story of a one such soul...

War started for a man named 'Buddy Hunter', when he was just four years old. It was 2253 in a hot mid-summer on the western edge of the Mojave desert. Buddy was the son of a ex-NCR Ranger who was a proud man, still retaining his strength as the years went on, he stayed with the expanding eastern border of the NCR, not being able to quite keep himself from the hardy life style he used to live and the friends he'd made. He was a quiet man mostly, but a strong figure that Buddy looked up to every day, as his father toiled in their garden to grow hardy crops to feed the family, hunting the local wild life, and keeping his boy, and his wife safe.

He'd built their small home out of scrap wood and metal, down by the highway that lead east, farther into the Mojave, which was a major trading and supply route, allowing them the ability to trade their surplus crops, the hides from the gecko's and other desert critters, to maintain an honest way of life, and to keep Buddy's father's rifle stocked with ammunition. Often times though Buddy, his ma, and pa would sit in the shade of their porch in the summer Mojave heat, enjoying a bit of peace on the NCR frontier.

It was one of these such days, when Buddy lost all he'd ever known.

Buddy was sitting on the edge of the porch, swinging his bare feet back and forth lazily, before yawning. It'd been a long day for the boy. A rad roach had snuck under the porch earlier, and his father let him watch as he lured it out with a bit of meat before stamping it's body with the heel of his boot and killing it. It was enough excitement for the four year old for the day. He didn't see his Pa hunt too much. He imagined it was a lot the same, but couldn't imagine his Pa stepping on a Gecko. His parents sat behind him in old metal patio chairs that they'd made a bit more comfortable with old cushions that his mother made from coyote hide, stuffing it with cotton they'd bought from one of the merchants from the east. His father held his mother's hand, caressing it gently with his callused grip. His rifle, an old trail carbine that he'd had since before Buddy was born, leaned against his right knee, his other hand loosely gripped around the foregrip. Life was like that for the old Ranger. Taking care of your family with one hand, and giving hot death to any that would challenge their happiness.

His wife and son didn't know it, but often times when he'd gone out to "Check if any critters' caught themselves in one of his traps", he'd actually gone east, to push back asshole raider types from the Mojave. They'd been making camps too close for his liking lately; The signs were always clear. Smoke, against the light blue sky from their campfires, their scouts, not hard for the weathered ranger to spot. So the aging man still found it within him to drive them off, killing a few with his rifle, and booby trapping their bodies with a frag, or an IED. It'd kept them away for a few weeks now. He'd killed fifteen so far, by rifle, and then any sorry soul that tried to move the bodies for burial likely didn't live to tell the tale. He didn't want to worry his family; but he himself was worried. They were getting bolder, recently. He'd almost come home with a bullet in him from his last trip into the Mojave; and the raiders certainly didn't have it in their minds to forgive the old man for killing their friends. He'd thought about making the place more defensible, asking for the NCR's assistance to help the old man line his porch with sand bags, barbed wire, and to put in land mines; buried beneath the Mojave dirt...

But he had a four year old son... He didn't want to run the risk of the boy having an accident. So he said nothing, but kept the dusty ham radio he had in the living room, ready to contact the nearest NCR Outpost if the raiders came calling. The old man scanned the horizon with his weary eyes, before spotting a lone figure walking down the road towards the house from the far west. He pulled a pair of old binoculars from around his neck, lifting them to inspect the person.

It was an NCR Trooper. He was around 6'1" ish, wearing the dusty tan fatigues of the NCR, a bandolier of pouches across his chest with a rifle slung over his shoulder. He looked to be a young man, his dark pecan hair covered with one of the 1st Recon berets that were so recognizable, being a deep red, with their golden emblem. The old man smiled wearily - it was one of the friends he'd made at the nearest outpost, and he was carrying with him an old cardboard carton of Nuka Cola - six of them, in the flimsy cardboard case. He'd told the trooper that his son liked Cola, and here he was marching straight up to his house with a case of it. He was a good kid, in his eyes. Just a minute later, and the soldier was walking up from the old highway to the dusty porch with a smile over his young features. Buddy looked up from the ground at the man with curious, and admiring eyes - he loved his Pa's stories from when he was a Ranger.

The soldier nodded with a smile to the old Ranger.

"Hey there, Gunny." He said in a cheerful, deep tone. The old man chuckled slightly, lifting his old hand from the rifle to shake the soldier's hand.

"Afternoon, Corporal." The old sergeant said with a weathered smile as the soldier took his handshake firmly, out of respect for his elder.

"I see you brought cola for my boy?" He asked with a small chuckle, looking down at Buddy, who was, indeed, fixated with the carton of Cola. The soldier looked down with a smile and a soft laugh, pulling a bottle from the carton, setting it down on the railing and pulling his glistening combat knife, using the tip to pop the bottle cap cleanly off, handing it to the boy, who took it in his small hands happily, tilting the glass bottle up to drink down the soda greedily, drawing another laugh from the young soldier. His Pa grabbed the foregrip of the old rifle, his other hand pushed down on the arm rest of his chair, helping him to stand with a grunt. He looked down at his son with a slight, proud grin. "Pick up the cap boy, it's yours! A cap saved is a cap earned." he said with a chuckle, fondly watching his son stoop to pick it up, turning it over in his hand, looking at it with wide eyes, studying it. His Pa turned, pulling their screen door opening and leading the soldier inside. Buddy sat down on the edge of the porch again, setting the bottle of cola in between his legs and further studying the cap, holding it between his small grubby fingers. His mother looked at him proudly as he put the bottle cap in his pocket to save it, before drinking more of the caramel coloured liquid. He could hear his father's low, rumbling voice from inside the house, as well as the soldier conversing, but couldn't quite make out the words. It didn't occur to him at the time, that their conversation was secret, but he didn't care at the moment, largely distracted by the soda. A minute or two later, and the screen door rasped as it was pushed open, the soldier walking out onto the porch, followed by his Pa. Both of them looked rather serious now, striking Buddy's curiousity.

"We'll have our scouts watch the highway a bit closer. We'll radio you if they see any... Activity... But if by chance something gets past them... Call us and we'll send the Cav your way." The soldier said with a serious nod. The old man wringed his hands slightly, nodding gratefully.

"I'd appreciate it. Thanks for stopping by." He said, tipping his hat to the young man, recieving a slight smile.

"Of course, Gunny. Oorah!" He said with confidence, starting back down the road whence he came, his dark boots kicking up a bit of dust as he left the family. Buddy's mother looked up to her wife with a worried look. "Jerry, what was that all about?" She asked fretfully, only recieving a compassionate look from her husband.

"Nothing to worry about honey. Everything's fine." He said reassuringly, before looking at his boy, who was still watching the soldier leave, captivated by his confident demeanor...

As the Mojave sun fell slowly towards the western horizon, dusk coming, the family gathered around the dinner table, Buddy's Ma bringing with her a few large plates of food, putting them in the middle of the table. It appeared today they were having wild Big horner shoulder, potatoes from the garden, and Banana Yucca, the elongated sweet fruit being Buddy's favorite, so his Pa always tried to bring some back whenever he was checking the traps for game.

Buddy and his Pa waited patiently for his mother to make her plate; Buddy was always taught it was polite to wait until every one has food before eating yourself. Once she was seated, Buddy picked up a Yucca fruit right off, biting into the soft, sweet fruit happily, evoking a smile from his Pa, and a thin frown from his mother.

"Use your fork, Bud" She said quietly as she cut a thin portion from the Big horner.

"Awwh, let the boy eat, he's fine." His Pa said chuckling, looking at his wife with a smile, earning himself a glare for undermining her as she quietly ate. Buddy didn't seem to notice though, happily munching away on the fruit.

"So Pa..." He said between bites. "Who was the soldier?" He asked, looking at his father curiously, who smiled as he washed a bite down with a drink of water.

"That was Corporal McKinnley, from the outpost down the highway." He said, wiping his mouth with the cloth beside his plate. "It was nice of him to drop off that cola, wasn't it?" He asked, getting a nod from his son. "Will he come back soon?" He asked hopefully, wanting to see the soldier again. His Pa chuckled, amused. "Maybe Bud. Maybe."

Suddenly, in the other room the old radio buzzed and crackled, a faint voice coming over it. Buddy's parents exchanged a worried glance, and his father set his fork down and headed in the other room silently, Buddy stared curiously at him, before pushing his chair back and standing at the edge of the doorway, watching him. His father turned a dial on the radio slowly, the voice coming into focus...

"... Sergeant Hunters, do you copy? Respond!" A man's voice came over the radio. The aging man pulled the microphone closer to the edge of the desk, leaning towards it and wetting his lips slightly, nervous. "Yes, yes, this is Hunters, who is this?" He said in a worried tone. Only static came over the radio for a few moments, before the voice on the other end spoke again.

"Sir, this is Lance Corporeal Harlond, 1st Recon Battalion, Second Company - You've got bogey's in your AO, looks like raider types from the desert, they're closing in pretty fast, I'd suggest you get dug in right quick, over"

...

Buddy's Pa was silent for a good few moments, looking, seemingly at nothing as he was lost in thought.

"Sergeant Hunters, are you there?" The voice said again, and his father's brow furrowed, before he pressed the transmittion key again.

"This is Hunters... How many of them are there?" He asked quietly.

"Can't quiet tell in this light... But I would say twelve or so, and they don't look like they're coming for a cup of tea. Hang in there pal, I've already called the outpost and their sending a full platoon your way." The voice said quietly. Buddy's father stood, walking over to the shelf and pulling down a small cardboard box, full of shells for the old rifle, setting it on the table next to the radio, sitting down with a quiet groan, pulling his rifle over and working the lever action forwards, putting a shell from the magazine tube into the chamber. He opened the box of shells carefully, sliding one into the tube to replace the one he'd put in the chamber, before arranging a line of several more of the brass cartridges on the edge of the desk. He looked towards his wife, who stood behind her son with her hands on his shoulders, looking at him with a worried expression. "Jerry... What's going on?" She asked fearfully, in a quiet voice. The old man sighed for a moment, a vacant expression hiding his feelings. "Take Buddy upstairs, in our room, and don't come out until I come up there..." He said quietly. His wife faltered for a moment. "But... Jerry..." She began, but he cut her off quietly. "Upstairs..." He said, standing with his rifle in his hands. She obeyed, ushering the young boy up the stairs and into their bedroom, locking the door and sitting on the edge of the bed on his mother's lap.

Gerald sighed wearily, his rifle in hand as he slowly turned off all the lights in the house - It was still light outside, but the shade from the porch would make seeing inside against the dark backdrop very hard to make him out, so while firing outside he was well concealed, other than the muzzle flash from his rifle. He opened the hall closet built under the stairs, pulling a small wooden crate out from under a tarp, pushing back the lid and pulling a small box with three or four old fragmentation grenades out, as well a small IED with a button-switch. He quickly pushed the screen door open, knowing that the raiders were liable to come down the road any moment. He slide the IED into the shadows beneath the old wooden stairs, and partially buried the button switch a few feet in front of them, along with the cord. The switch would, once stepped on trigger an electrical current to a small starter explosive, which would trigger the larger explosion from the half-stick of TNT inside the lunch box. All in all, it'd create a nice bit of shrapnel, and a bad day for the bastard who tripped it. Gerald threw a glance up the road, before rushing back inside, pushing the couch in front of the door as a make shift barricade. He kneeled behind the front window, just in time as he began to hear clumsy footsteps outside - boots crunching gravel and dirt under foot. He pressed the transmittal key again, whispering to it. "Harlond, you read?"

A reply came a second later. "Yeah, I hear you." Gerald paused for a moment, listening to the men outside. "If I go down... You get these bastards. All of them." He said quietly, trembling with rage.

Only silence, came from the other end for a few seconds, before Harlond said "I'll make sure of it. I promise. But that ain't gonna happen, because you're gonna live through this. You're a Ranger, remember? So show these assholes what a Ranger is made of."

Gerald smiled silently, as he heard the quiet metallic click of the button switch.

A moment later, the house shook slightly from the force of the IED's explosion, the stairs exploding outwards, up into the air. The raiders opened fire on the house, sub machine guns and pistols ripping through the wood, splintering it as the small caliber bullets punched through the walls. One of the raiders, a young man in his mid twenties with rough, dirty, but handsome features lay on the ground, thrown back from the explosion with a large, sharp piece of wood through his chest. He sputtered quietly, spitting up blood on the dusty Mojave dirt. One of his friends ran over with a cry of sorrow.

"Johnny, NOO!" He yelled, sliding to his knees beside his friend, who looked down at the shaft of wood in his chest. He tried to laugh for a moment, spitting up blood. "Fuck... Didn't think I'd go this way..." He said quietly. His friend shook his head "No dude, you're fine, just hang in there... Just don't die on me..." He said with a look of agony as his friend looked up at him with a smile. "Stop... Being a pussy and kill that bastard for me." He said quietly, between coughs, as his eyes began to glaze with death. His friend, keeled over his body, sobbing softly in the quiet loll as the gunsmoke rolled, the raiders ceasing fire momentarily. He looked over by his friends feet, at the AK47 on the ground he'd dropped when the IED went off. He yelled with a fit of rage, picking up the assault rifle and beginning to spray into the house. He saw a shadow, shift slightly in one of the windows, and swung the rifle to fire on it, but it was too late, as a rifle barked from inside the house, fire spitting from the window as a thick .44 punched a new home in the raider's skull dropping him dead. The raiders began to fire again as they scattered for cover, behind rocks, destroyed cars, anthing they could find, refocused on the window and the area around it. Gerald crawled across the wooden floor with a soft groan, his rifle cradled in the crooks of his elbows as he carefully stood up in the dining room window, taking aim at one of the raiders behind their cover and sending another round through them, before cycling the action again and hastily making his way upstairs, relocating his position again to keep them guessing. He peeked out of the second story window in the stairwell carefully as the rattle of small arms fire increased in sparsity. A raider ran from behind a rock formation towards the porch, intent on getting in. Gerald dropped him with a single shell through the chest, and refocused on another who was behind cover, waiting for him to peek his head out, and then tagging it with a round, killing him instantly as the bullet smashed through the front of his skull, and blew out the back of his head, cranial matter staining the Mojave dust red with his blood. Through the gunfire, Buddy sat in his mother's arms cowering at his first taste of what his life would be littered with.

Gerald took a deep breath, pressing his back against the wall, looking down at his shaky hands with a smile. He was getting old. He'd gotten too comfortable though, as he heard someone struggling downstairs with the door, bashing their shoulder against it to shift the couch out of the way. He cursed under his breath, creeping down the stairs in the dark with a curse, his rifle raised even though he couldn't see the sights in the poor lighting. He looked at the Fragmentation grenades, regretful that he didn't use them when he had the chance; it'd be too risky to use them inside or on the porch, shrapnel might hurt his family. He waited for a moment, before firing two rounds quickly through the door. He heard someone fall down on the other side, and assumed he'd killed them. He stood there for a moment, before pushing the action forward, the brass bouncing across the wooden floor, before rolling. It was silent for a moment, before a raider kicked the door, the couch sliding a bit further away.*

Damn these fucks are determined. Gerald though, raising his rifle, and pulling the trigger. The firearm emitted a clicking noise, but no shot, evoking a curse from the old man as he looked up, the remaining raiders pushing their way into the house. He climbed up the stairs slowly, into the bedroom with his wife and child. She started to speak for a moment, but Gerald closed the door slowly, a finger in front of his mouth as he leaned the rifle in the corner of the room, pulling a long bowie knife from the sheath on his hip. He pressed his ear to the wall, hearing footsteps come up the creaky stairs. Buddy began to whimper slightly, clinging to his mother. Gerald slid a bit further away from the doorway, his back pressed to the wall. The door slowly creaked open a tad, as a scruffy looking man looked inside, and smiled widely as he spotted the old woman and her son, only managing a step forwards into the room before his father lunged forward with strength and energy uncommon in men his age, slamming his head against the wall and jamming the knife up through the bottom of his jaw, the thick knife crushing it's way through the roof of his mouth easily and piercing his brain. Jerry struggled with him for a moment, twisting the knife as his son watched, terrified.

His father threw the raider down onto the ground outside the room. The other raiders heard the noise, looking up towards the cieling.

Five. Jerry thought. Five left.

He leaned down to pick up his freshly killed victim's SMG, but a round tore through his side, fired from the stairwell. He sputtered for a moment, before his knees gave way.

"Paa!" Buddy yelled fearfully, escaping his mother's arms to kneel beside his father's body. A shout of disgust was heard from the stairwell, by a middle aged man, with a disgusted look on his face. He stomped into the room, before shooting Gerald in the back of the head with his pistol. "So, this is the bastard who's killed half my men huh? A fucking old man..." He said angrily, kicking Buddy in the face with his boot, opening up a cut on the outside of his right eye, making the boy cry. He raised his handgun as Buddy watched, shooting his mother twice through the chest as she stood, making her fall back down with a silent gasp of pain. Buddy sobbed, rolling on the ground as the man kicked him again, angrily.

"Welcome to life, shithead." The raider spat, leveling his pistol down at Buddy. "Now, goodbye." Buddy looked between his legs, down at the hallway, seeing Corporeal McKinnley leaning around the corner, a rifle in his hands as he fired four rounds straight through the raider, who fell with a gasp, on top of Buddy.

Buddy was, saved, from being killed that day, but his life ended with it. Instead, a soldier was born. He was tooken into the custody of the NCR, and whisked far away from the frontlines, into a peaceful family of share croppers, in California, where the boy grew up. He was quiet, and estranged from other youths his age growing up, preferring his own company to anyone else's. His foster parents were loving and nurturing, but it did nothing to ease the scars caused by his parents murder, but Buddy hid it well. No one really knew the festering depression of the boy, or the feelings of rage - hurt. They wrote him off as just being a solitary soul, and went back to their day. It was to everyone's surprise, when Buddy enlisted with the NCR on his 17th birthday, leaving his foster home with a small goodbye. He shed no tears...


	2. Chapter 2 Camp Shady Sands

**Chapter 2. Camp Shady Sands**

The NCR liked order. Order, came with law, and law kept people safe. They kept their soldiers rank and file, even through training. So here was seventeen year old Buddy. He'd grown much from the day on the farm, now being a youth of 6'3", with short, messy chocolate hair, startlingly blue eyes, like a frozen lake. He wasn't the strongest boy in his unit, but hard work in the sharecropper's farm that he'd been given to gave his slim frame very defined tones of muscle, and he was built like a runner, for the long haul. Buddy was standing in a single file line with various people of various ages. Most were around his age though, but a few were in their late twenties. At the head of the line, was the gates to Camp Shady Sands, one of the original NCR bases, and beside them stood a Sergeant and his Lieutenant. Buddy could hear them at the head of the line as he shifted the heavy pack on his shoulder slightly, looking out at the California desert.

"...Name?" One of the men in uniform at the head of the line asked the person at the head of it.

A small voice replied a moment later, sounding like it was from a scared youth around his age. "Uhh, it's Devlin Goods sir."

A few moments later, Buddy heard the man in the uniform say, "Alright Recruit Goods, Barracks Alpha, get your uniform from the armory and and wait in your Barracks for your drill instructor."

...

"Move it, Goods!" The man snapped and Buddy heard the shuffle of boots on the desert floor as the lanky teen clumsily ran off towards the armory with a stuttered apology. Buddy watched him through the links of the fence, narrowing his eyes slightly curiously. He heard the men at the front of the line repeating the process with the next person. He took a slight step out of line, looking up at the head to see how many were in front of him. It seemed like only two were in between him and the soldiers in uniform. He stepped back in line quickly, before he could be reprimanded for breaking file. He stood behind the person in front of him.

"... Barracks Charlie, get your shit from the armory and head there right away." He heard from the head of the line, before walking forward a couple of paces as the line moved forward again. Two people later and he was face to face with a sergeant with a Ranger hat on his head, with dark, serious hazel eyes, skin tanned a light brown from the desert sun, and a rough beard, shaved close. He was a bit shorter than Buddy, but didn't seem it from just the way he held himself.

"Name?" He said as Buddy stepped forward, eyeing the boy, his demeanor seemingly demanding Buddy's respect.

"Buddy Hunters." He replied, shifting the large pack on his back again. The sergeant eyed him for a moment, before scribbling something on his clip board, before nodding to him. "Alright recruit Hunters, get your ass down to the armory and pick up your uniform, and head to Barracks Alpha." Buddy nodded silently, before walking straight towards the main building, now ignoring the conversation behind him, he pushed open the main doors, and upon entering the armory he saw there was a fairly long table across the room, with a man standing at the far left, wearing desert fatigues, but oddly enough, no combat gear. Buddy walked towards him and the man nodded. "What's your name?" The tall armory master asked, turning to go through uniform jackets behind him. Buddy stopped at the table, setting his pack on the edge of it.

"Uhh, Recruit Hunters, sir." Buddy said simply, before looking over at the different stations of gear, scratching the back of his head idly. "Well... Recruit Hunters, Here's your uniform. Take care of it, because your drill instructor will get on your ass if you don't." The man said as he went through a couple of the other stations, Buddy stepping to the right with him. "Here's your... Shaving razor, if you didn't bring one yourself... Your combat vest and pads... And, your lid." He said as he placed the military-styled helmet on the counter, patting it slightly. Buddy glanced at him for a moment, unsure what to think, before beginning to gather the various gear, carefully carrying his uniform and vest thrown over his forearm to keep them folded, his cover over his hand, allowing him to grasp some of the straps inside that made it able to snugly fit on your head. He pushed out the main door, blinking into the California morning sun, before throwing his head to his left and his right, before spotting a faded plaque beside the entrance to one of the barracks that read 'Barracks A.'. He turned, pulling his pack a bit higher on his shoulder, climbing up the wooden stairs and pushing the door open with his shoulder, silently glancing around the room at various others in his age group. He spotted the slim, clumsy boy down at the very end of the bunks on the right side of the room. He let out a silent sight as he walked towards the bunk. He looked down at the boy, who was fiddling with the footlocker at the end of his bunk. The boy noticed his approach, turning his head and pushing his glasses a bit farther up his nose, extending his hand. "Hi I'm Devlin... Are you my bunkmate?" He asked. Buddy only nodded, before going to attend to his own footlocker. The other boy didn't look to jilted about the loss of the handshake, turning to watch Buddy. "Not one for handshakes huh?" He asked nervously. Buddy remained silent, as he unpacked the clothes and miscellaneous items from his pack, neatly folding them along the bottom, and laying his folded uniform and combat gear on the top, before shutting the lid and locking the padlock with the key he found inside. The other boy had taken the hint by now, seeing to his own arrangements. Buddy looked around for a moment, at the other recruits conversing quietly and assumed that the foot locker was all he had to attend to, so he climbed up onto his bunk, laying on his back with his hands behind his head lazily, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't get much rest though, because he heard the door to the armory swing open with a creak, the sergeant from the gates strolling in and blowing a whistle loudly, cutting off all conversation in the room as the recruits scrambled to stand at attention in a line shoulder to shoulder in front of the bunks. He stopped, spreading his legs slightly on the floorboards of the barracks, letting the whistle fall from his lips as he let his stoney gaze pass over all of the recruits in the room, before he began walking farther in, yelling so his voice could be heard by all. "Good morning, recruits! My name is Sergeant Oliver, and I'll be your Drill instructor for your stay at Camp Shady Sands." He said, stopping at the far end of the room and turning around. "It's my duty, to take you boys and turn you into soldiers of the NCR... And I will fulfill this duty, no matter what it takes as long as you do not give up on yourself... I, will not give up on you." He said in the slow, clear but loud drawl that characterized him. Buddy watched him intently, studying the man that was to be his commanding officer for the next few weeks in training.

The drill instructor stopped, turning at the entrance of the barracks again. "Get your fatigues on and a shirt to run in people, we start PT in five minutes, dismissed." He said gruffly, before pulling the Barracks door and walking away from the building as the recruits quickly began to open their foot lockers again, pulling their boots off and getting dressed in the BDU pants they'd be given. Buddy slid on a relatively tight fitting white cotton T-shirt, because he knew it'd soak up his sweat rather well, before silently pulling his boots back on, lacing them into a knot quickly. His bunkmate, who sat on his trunk like him, tying his shoes suddenly looked up at him. "What's PT?" He asked curiously. Buddy stood, looking towards the entrance of the barracks with his icy gaze. "Physical training." He said simply, before turning to lock his trunk again...

Sure enough, a few minutes later the recruits were filing out of the barracks, beside the perimeter fence. The Drill Instructor nodded once before saying. "We're going to go around the inside of the fence, all the way around the camp, and we're going to keep running until I say we stop. Stick in a group, and get a good pace people. Let's move!" The Sergeant said, clapping his hands and ushering the group of young recruits to start a jog around the fence. Buddy glanced to his left at his frail bunkmate, who's breath rasped through his mouth noisily. Buddy could already tell he was going to have problems with training. The drill instructor jogged along side the group of recruits, ushering them on and checking the time on his watch. A few laps around the camp and Devlin was having a real hard time, his feet hitting the ground hard as he began to slow down. Buddy looked back at him for a moment hardly in a sweat, glancing at the drill instructor who was distracted with the main group. Buddy dashed to Devlin's side, ushering him to run faster, his hand pushing him lightly forward, forcing him to run. "Come on, get your ass up and move, this is only the first day." He said gruffly, not noticing the sergeant watching him encourage the other recruit. The sergeant smiled slightly, recognizing a leader in his company of recruits already. Buddy didn't leave Devlin's side, even when he was whining that he couldn't run any long, Buddy forced him to keep running, until the drill instructor blew his whistle sharply, waving for the recruits to fall in around him. Devlin keeled over, retching, and Buddy sighed, wiping sweat away from his forehead, before patting him on the back. "You did good." He said simply, before walking towards the group of other recruits. The sergeant looked at him for a moment, before barking out. "Recruit Hunters... Where's your bunk mate?"

Buddy paused for a moment. "Vomiting, sir." He replied, without a grin. The sergeant smiled slightly. "Alright recruits... It's been a long day, go ahead and shower, and get back in the barracks... I'll be there shortly. Dismissed." He said, before walking straight towards the main building, leaving the recruits to mill about, before heading for the shower house.

...

After the first hot shower Buddy'd had in his life (Which was a very pleasant experience for the boy), he returned to the barracks with the mess of other recruits, most of them joking and conversing between each other as they bonded as a platoon. Buddy followed at the end of the group, speaking to no one. Devlin followed closely behind, looking at the dust underfoot. He looked up at Buddy for a moment, with a slightly admiring expression. "What you did earlier... I just wanted to thank you for it." He said in a sincere tone. Buddy nodded, looking up at the sky as he entered the barracks. "Don't mention it." He replied, holding the door open for himself and letting it go, leaving Devlin to clumsily catch it on his own and push it back open to walk inside. Buddy sat on his trunk and pulled his boots off with a sigh, observing the room around him. In the barracks house, he'd observed the others long enough to see that most of the gaggle of teenagers grouped themselves around a nineteen year old... Recruit Davidson, as Buddy overheard. The man was handsome, with short, groomed black hair, clean shaven, and built like a sculpture, as well as being a few inches taller than Buddy.

_Platoon leader. _Buddy predicted as he put his boots neatly side-by side in front of his trunk. He noticed several people turn and look in Devlin and his direction momentarily. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the look in Davidson's eyes. Cruelty. He sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes for a moment, before he heard a whistle - not the drill sergeant's this time, but the kind you make by putting your fingers between your lips.

"Hey, four-eyes..." He heard a brassy toned voice. Davidson's, he already knew without looking. "That was some fine running out there wasn't it?" He said, Buddy looking up to see the smug look on his face that he expected. Devlin blinked a few times, before saying "Yeah, I guess..."

Davidson looked down at the others around him. His followers, Buddy knew. "It's a shame... I was hoping to be able to go at least one day without having to smell puke and failure." He jeered, the others hooting with delight. Buddy stood with a sigh, and Davidson didn't miss a beat. "Who are you, his boyfriend? Sit back down." He demanded with a shit-eating grin. Buddy, wasn't a follower, and nor was he anything like Davidson - an ass raised in a military family with everything handed to him - could understand. Davidson brushed one of his clique out of the way, walking forward. "Sit down before you get yourself hurt." He said with a friendly smile. Buddy wasn't having it, not this time. The bully smiled, and acted as if he were about to turn away, but threw a right hook towards Buddy, who ducked it deftly and wrapped his hand down against the base of the man's neck, his other at his shoulder, pulling him downwards into a knee that slammed hard into his abdomen, stealing all of the breath from him at once, before Buddy grounded himself in a wide stance, grasping Davidson by the throat and using his arm as a lever to smash the back of his head against the aluminum corner post of the bunk beside him, the hollow pole denting heavily as it resounded with a dull throb. Buddy let his unconscious body fall limp at the side of the bunk, at that moment, the Drill Instructor pushed through the ring of recruits, blowing his whistle like the howl of a cyclone. He let it fall loosely from his lips, before he guestured to Davidson, looking straight at Buddy.

"What the fuck happened?" He yelled. Buddy looked at him, before looking around at the other recruits, who had relatively stunned faces. "It was self-defense, sir." He said quietly, making eye contact with the Sergeant again, who stared at him silently for a moment, seeming to be infuriated, looking back down at the man, unconscious on the floorboards. "Did you kill him?" The sergeant yelled. Buddy blinked a few times, stunned himself by the question. "No, sir."  
>"Then try harder next time!" The sergeant retorted loudly, before giving Buddy a wide smile, and a nod. Buddy's eyebrows had peaked in disbelief as the Sergeant dispersed the other recruits and had the medics haul the unconscious recruit to the medical bay. He sat on his trunk, rubbing his face as he tried to understand what had just happened. Sergeant Oliver soon came back into the room with a stack of papers and envelopes and a mug with various pens in it. He began to go around to all of the recruits who were standing at attention, giving them one of each. Buddy looked at him with curiousity as he took the pen and paper, sitting back down on his trunk patiently. After everyone had the articles, the Sergeant stopped at the far end of the room again. "I know all of you recruits are wondering what this is about" He said, looking around the room. "It's NCR tradition, that anyone who becomes a member of the military must write a letter... To be given to their loved once should they die in battle." He said solemnly. "So think very carefully about what you'd like your family and friends to have as your last will and testament. I expect you all to give them to me in the morning, after breakfast." He said, before making his way out of the barracks. Buddy stared down at the piece of paper in his hands with an expression as blank as the white of the page. He stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, trying to pull some sort of emotion, or love for his foster parents, deep down from within him. Devlin watched him curiously, as Buddy began to write suddenly, without pause, something coming out of him that had been in the making for ten years.<p>

_Dear Pa,_

_Even though I was only four, I still remember every moment of the day you and Ma were killed as if it were yesterday. Every day I think about you two, and there's a hole in my heart that can't be filled by anyone else. I still remember how hard you worked to keep us safe, and to put food on the table for us. You took care of us, and you were a good man. My only regret has ever been that I was too weak to save Ma. I let you down dad. I let you both down._

_I want you to know that I'm following your footsteps. I'm going to be a Ranger, just like you were. I love you dad._

_-Buddy_

As the pen ended the smooth formation of the 'y' on the end of his name, Buddy shuddered, letting out a sigh as his eyes welled up. He struggled with himself, steeling himself not to cry as he stood up, unlocking his trunk and laying the paper inside, locking it again. He looked around for a moment at the other recruits, now quieted from the events earlier, they were headless - having no leader to place their insecurities in. Buddy huffed with a slight smirk at their solumn demeanor. It was fair to say that he might have despised them, at the time. He pulled himself up onto his bunk, laying ontop of the sheets in the warm night turning to face the wall as he closed his eyes, slowed his breathing as he reflected on the events of the day, locking thoughts about his letter, deep in his subconscious as he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3 Platoon Leader

It was early morning. The sun had just rose on the second day at Camp Shady Sands, and Sergeant Oliver was wasting no time in breaking the fresh recruits in. A loud, old trumpet song blasted through the intercom through the barracks.

"Up an' attem maggots!" Called the Drill Sergeant as he marched through the middle of the bunkhouse yelling loudly through a megaphone. Recruits began stirring immediately, one even fell out of bed, with a loud thump on the hardwood floor. Buddy immediately slid out of bed to avoid disturbing the covers too much and immediately began tucking down the corners and sides of the sheets, making his bed to code before the other recruits even realized the shit they were going to get for not making them.

Just as he predicted, a few seconds later the drill sergeant barked out "You filthy slime-piles going to leave my fucking bedsheets like that?". Buddy was the only recruit pulling his boots on and lacing them to stand at attention in front of his foot locker. The Drill Sergeant pivoted on heel, as if psychically becoming aware of that fact as he marched straight into Buddy's face.

"Why are you not making your bed, recruit?" He barked loudly, this time without the megaphone.

"Sir, I've already made my bed, sir!" Buddy replied just as loudly, as he was expected to.

The drill sergeant looked him up and down, noticing that the recruit's boots were laced and on already as well.

"Good fucking job!" The drill sergeant said, although not sounding any happier, and just as loud as before. "Keep it up, Hunters!" He growled out, before storming around the room to administer sweet, drill sergeant styled motivation to the slower troopers. To Buddy's surprise, Devlin soon joined his side in front of his own foot locker, being one of the first to follow his actions. Soon all of the recruits were standing in front of their footlockers in a neat 'U' shaped line around the room. Sergeant Oliver paced through the room quickly infront of them.

"Out-fucking-standing!" He yelled, tossing the megaphone to one of his assistant drill instructors casually. "You all look like you want breakfast!" He turned suddenly to the nearest recruit, a short, pale looking boy who looked just a bit intimidated.

"Do you want breakfast?" Yelled Oliver, directly to him.

"Sir, yes sir!" the recruit replied swiftly. Buddy almost shook his head in pity for the poor guy.

"Too-fucking-bad!" yelled back the Sergeant, beginning to resume his route around the room. "As a trooper you get ONE square ration a day and TWO snacks! There will be no sugar bombs, no Atomic gum drops, and no fucking jelly donuts in this outfit! Is this clear?" He roared. A few of the recruits immediately sounded off in response. Buddy, and Devlin were both included in that small group.

"Sir yes, sir!" Came the immediate reply from them. The drill instructor swerved sharply again, seeming rather loud and unpredictable, as most drill sergeants are.

"I can't fucking hear half of my recruits! Sound off like you've got a pair!"

This time, the response was much louder as the other recruits joined in.

"Sir yes, sir!"

"Fan-fucking-tastic! Left face!" He barked out, which everyone immediately turned to obey.

"In a single file line, to my obstacle course, on the double 'croots!" He called, ushering the line out the door. "Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

After being berated, rushed, guided along by the nose by the drill instructor, the platoon of recruits arrived at the obstacle course and were split into 2 single file lines at the head of it. It was just Buddy's luck to be first in the right hand line. The drill instructor paced impatiently nearby as the recruits nervously eyed the course.

"When I blow my whistle I want the first pair to begin down my course, second whistle blow the second pair, so on and so forth! You will run this obstacle course from beginning to finish, and all of you, will make it through. Do you understand?"

"Sir yes sir!" came back the loud reply from the double stacked line, which was quickly followed by a burst of the whistle.

The obstacle course looked easy to Buddy, at first. They started off with an agility test - running through a set of tires as quickly as possible without stepping on the tires - Then a platform raised a few feet off the ground and a high wall infront of it. Buddy quickly planted a foot on the platform and threw himself onto the wall, catching the edge of it with his fingers, and with a grunt of effort, beginning to haul himself over it. The other runner wasn't far behind, doing fairly well at it. Buddy didn't catch a glimpse of him, after dropping off the wall on the otherside, he turned to see something like a flat, ten foot high wall looming ahead.

"Let's go, recruits! Get that lead out of your boots, move it!" The drill instructor called as he blew the whistle once more, releasing the second pair.

Flustered, Buddy ran full sprint at the wall and leaped, trying to catch the edge, and failing. He didn't want to get passed by the person behind him.. In his mind, it would've been shameful.

Exasperated, he tried again, his hand coming up at least two feet short. He heard a thud, and the other runner was doing the same. The drill sergeant slowly smiled. "My recruits can't seem to outsmart a goddamn wall!" He chided loudly, and it was only then that it clicked with Buddy, he stopped and guestured over to the other recruit.

"Hey, I'll give you a boost up, once you're up there, give me a hand and we'll climb over this thing together." He said, placing a hand on the other recruit's shoulder to stop him from jumping for the edge again. The boy turned, a freckle faced, shorter, stocky recruit with steely eyes. He nodded at Buddy.

"Damn, wish I'd of thought of that.. Let's get over this wall."

Buddy nodded, immediately taking a knee at the front of the wall, clasping his hands together and allowing the other recruit to step onto them, boosting him up to the ledge. The other recruit pulled himself half way over, extending his hand down towards Buddy, who took a few steps back and leaped, managing to clasp hands with the recruit who grunted loudly as he pulled Buddy over, just as the second pair approached the wall. Buddy stopped, sitting on the edge of the wall with each leg straddled over the sides even as the recruit who helped him continued the course. He leaned down, offering both hands to the recruit behind him, who gratefully jumped to meet them, Buddy pulling him up the wall.

He continued to do this and help each and every recruit in his line make it over the wall. By the time the last recruit was over, his arms, shoulders and back were all aching with soreness, but he turned, dropping to the ground on the other side and jogging on to complete the course raggedly, just behind the last recruit he'd helped.

By the time they made it back to the start of the obstacle course, the Drill Sergeant appeared to be waiting for Buddy, because he immediately stepped directly into Buddy's face, again.

"You were released first, Why are you the very last recruit off of my obstacle course?" He demanded.

Buddy stood stock still, with his hands by his sides as he panted a bit.

"S-sir, I stayed behind to assist the other recruits over the high wall, sir!"

The drill sergeant paced a bit to his right, circling the boy. "So you stayed on that wall and pulled the recruits in your line over - Even though they were passing you?" Yelled the drill sergeant into his ear.

"Sir, yes sir!" Buddy called out, who was beginning to feel like he was about to get his first taste of "motivational exercise" - Or PT as a punishment, really. In that respect, he was nervous, sore, and tired from the course - far more so than his fellow recruits.

The drill sergeant pivoted, Buddy still isolated from the main group, he turned to face them. "Recruits! This is Recruit Hunters! He was the first into the course, and the last out of it! He has the single worst course time right now, than I've ever fucking seen in my time instructing at Camp Shady Sands!" He exclaimed loudly, leading Buddy to surpress a sigh, looking down at the ground. The other recruits shifted nervously too. This was the same recruit that just pulled them over a ten foot wall - Buddy earned their respect on the course, he didn't deserve what punishment was about to come his way.

The drill sergeant paced quietly, before barking up, continuing. "He is to be your new Platoon Leader!" He said loudly, smiling widely.  
>Buddy blinked for a moment, in doubt of what he just heard. Second time the Drill Sergeant blindsided him with something like this, and although he was happy, he certainly knew it wouldn't be the last time.<p>

The other recruits looked equally as stunned, as if just slapped in the face. "He will set an example for all of you to follow, and you will follow it! If you need to be taught something, brought up to speed, he is the one you can look to! As far as I'm concerned, Recruit Hunters is your new goddamn best friend. Now - I want a jogging run around the perimeter fence until my whistle blow - Get to it!" He snapped, rushing the recruits to what Buddy could best describe as a "Victory lap" around the perimeter fence, because to him it sure felt like victory.


	4. Chapter 4 Opening eyes

After the lap around the perimeter fencing, the sun began to set, and after a quick shower the boys were ushered into the messhall for their first meal since they arrived at the Camp. The messhall was a large open room, smack dab in the center of the main building. All four recruit platoons were in the messhall, each grouped in their own long table. The din of voices overlapping each other and the laughter of the recruits sang out through the room. Buddy filed into line with the other recruits, grabbing one of the non-descript trays from the rack with doubt about how good the rations were going to taste. He heard the rumors back home, that they were rancid. You could imagine how 'thrilled' he was when the mess sergeant plopped a plastic sealed container on his tray labeled simply: "NEW CALIFORNIA REPUBLIC ISSUE RATION".

How informative.

He stared at it, raising an eyebrow as he shifted out of line after grabbing a bottle of water as well, taking a spot at the table with 'ALPHA' carved deep into the wood. His platoon mates immediately followed suit, and before he could blink Buddy was surrounded by a swarm of his comrades, who wasted no time in starting conversations with each other, and with him; Something that he was immediately out of his element in. So many people that were suddenly taking notice of him at the same time - It made him feel nervous and a bit intoxicated by pride at the same time.

"So uhh.. Platoon Leader, Hunters. You got a name bro?" piped up a blonde kid that sat across from him. Buddy hesitated for a moment, pulling open the ration container as he did. It felt like all eyes were on him suddenly, as the other recruits around him stopped talking for a moment to simply hear his name.

"It's uh, Buddy, actually.." he remarked in a calm, even tone as he uphended the plastic container, in the process dumping out it's contents. He sifted through them briefly, seperating them by pushing the packages out with his hand. It looked like a lean cut of preserved brahmin meat that'd been dehydrated for long shelf life. Wonderful.

Along side it was a small can with preserved, presliced banana yucca, which brought back a few sorrowful memories from Buddy's past. He picked up a small white plastic pad, reading it's label as his fellow recruits continued the conversation with him.

"Well Buddy.. I'm Locke, and this is my friend Jaz, we enlisted together." He guestured to his left, Buddy looking up for the first time noticed there was a female in the platoon. He'd half forgotten that he might have a female platoon mate, which was a pleasant surprise. He wondered how he managed to miss her on the obstacle course. Must have been in the other line.

She was a heavily tanned, cute looking girl with short black hair in the mandatory pony tail for recruits with hair near shoulder length. "Hi." she said rather briefly with a slight smile. It was easy to pick up that she had 'interest' in Buddy, for his more social platoon mates, who immediately grinned, obviously expecting their Platoon Leader to be the iconic 'Ladies man' already.

Buddy however, was nowhere near this expectation. Far from it, he didn't even bat an eyelash at how she was smiling at him. In his thick skull, she was being polite and friendly. He looked back down at the white pad which apparently was a heating tablet. He twisted it sharply, something popping within the pad as he set it under the cut of meat.

"Uhh.. Good to meet you, Jaz?..." He said, pausing to pull the tab back to pull the top off of the canned yucca. "So where are you and Jaz from then?"

"Oh well, we're actually from the Boneyard.. It was a pretty big city.. A little different coming out here in the middle of the desert." Locke piped up as he focused on his food himself. "So what about you? Where are you from, Bud?"

Buddy went to pull the heating tab out from under his brahmin and immediately recoiled, wincing. "Ah!" He quietly exclaimed, waving his fingers through the air for a moment from how hot the little pad got so quickly. He picked up his fork, pushing it away with it instead. "Oh.. Nevada.." He said indifferently.

His platoon mates immediately reacted to this with enthusiasm.

"Nevada? Did you see Vegas?"

"What was it like? Did you ever see a death claw?"

"Are the Legion really just across the river from there?"

He was flooded with questions and immediately regretted ever mentioning it. He took a bite of the brahmin, chewing it for a moment as he thought about what to say, before swallowing it down and sighing.

"Moved away when I was four.. It's just a desert." He said in a monotone voice that really told nothing about how he felt about his childhood state. His response stilled his platoon mates' excitement once again. They thought they were beginning to understand that Buddy was pretty single-geared. Devlin noticed that Buddy hadn't smiled once since they met... It was, odd, to say the least.

His platoon mates seemed a bit hesitant now. The person they'd worked Buddy up to be in their heads from earlier's obstacle course was nothing similar to the real Buddy, which was in some ways dissappointing for them. There weren't any doubts about him yet though, which for the next few days, would probably work to his advantage.

It was awkwardly silent for a few moments, as if they couldn't think of anything to say, or they were waiting for Buddy to start a topic of conversation, and for a bit neither happened before Devlin piped up.

"So uhh.. What you did to Davidson, where'd you learn to do that?" He inquired with a small laugh.

"Yeah that was badass man! Can't believe Oliver had your back on that!" Locke said enthusiastically.

Buddy shrugged, picking at his Brahmin a bit more, but when he looked up, he noticed out of the corner of his eye someone staring at him from the far end of the table. He turned his head slightly to meet a cold, vengeful gaze of a humiliated Davidson. Buddy wondered at first how the hell he got released from the med-bay, but quickly shut that thought down, simply because now that he was, it ceased to be relevant.

He maintained eye contact with Davidson calmly, fearlessly. "I got into a lot of fights growing up.." He said without taking his eyes away. Locke, Jaz and Devlin picked up on his stare, following it to see Davidson.

"I think he's still sore, Bud.." Locke said nervously. "Maybe you should just leave it alone?..."

Jaz looked at him with a worried expression, but Buddy was once again oblivious, glancing down to take another bite of his meat, breaking eye contact with the angry bully simply because he could. He controlled the entire situation, from his perspective - Because he was calm, and Davidson was not. If they were to clash again, it would be Davidson that would come to him, not the other way around.

"Pssh, let him be sore about it! I bet Buddy could kick his ass all over again!" Exclaimed Devlin loudly with a grin. Too loudly, in fact, as Davidson almost was simmering now. Buddy sighed, not responding.

"I don't know... I think he's just a jerk.." Jaz said quietly, shaking her head in disapproval.

Buddy rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. "It's irrelevant. I'm here to become a ra-..." He began, stopping before correcting himself.

"Trooper, not to get in fights with Davidson, of all people." He scoffed tiredly. Devlin grinned.

"You're going to try for Ranger?" Jaz asked excitedly. "I bet you'll do great!"

Buddy sighed again, letting his fork drop to his tray, apparently done eating as he carried it over to the trash and scraped it off, setting it down on the rack and leaving the messhall. His three new friends watched in bewilderment.

"Was it something I said?.." Jaz said worriedly.

Apparently after meal break they had one hour of free time before lights out. Buddy was already exausted from the day's events, and an hour to do absolutely nothing was burning him with irritance. He sat on his foot locker with a sigh, a rag in his hands and some oil as he took to shining his boots quietly, leaving himself to his own thoughts in solitude. He looked up, after not hearing the usual chatter of the other recruits. He was the only one in the bunkhouse. Didn't worry him though. The other recruits were most likely messing around outside or something else. As he looked back down to continue shining his boots, he heard the door swing open, and looked up again. It was the Drill Sergeant and his two assistants. Oliver stopped as he glanced at him with surprise, but shrugged. He muttered something to his two assistants, who began going around the room and checking footlockers. Oliver however, strolled over slowly, his boots clicking on the tile with his steps.

"What're you doing inside, Hunters? You know this is the only freetime you'll be getting tonight?" Oliver inquired in a normal voice for once - merely talking to the boy instead of barking commands, which surprised Buddy, who looked up at him.

"Shining my boots, sir." He stated rather flatly, pulling a sigh from Oliver.

"I can see that. But why? You know you've got other responsibilities now?" Oliver inquired, putting his hands on his knees to be level with the boy.

Buddy looked puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"

Oliver sighed. "Being a Platoon leader is more than excelling at tasks and all of this other bullshit we have you do. It's not nearly as important as making yourself someone that you can be proud to be, and others can be proud to follow."

Buddy blinked slightly, before scratching the back of his head nervously. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean to be a great leader, you have to make changes to yourself, and not try to change others."

"But I-" Buddy began, before Oliver interjected. "Boy, you may not know what the hell I'm talking about right now but you remember it for when you need to. Now, let me ask you this: Would you rather follow a by-the-books platoon leader who has the outward personality of cardboard, or someone who isn't afraid make friends with his own shadow?"

This hit Buddy like a ton of bricks, leading himself to quickly reevaluate who he was. Was he really afraid of making friends? Is that how his Platoon mates were seeing him right now?

"Now, I can see there's something wrong with you, boy. Not something that's your fault, but something that's in your way of being who I think you could and still can be." Oliver continued, hitting the nail on the head with a sledgehammer as he continued to drive it home.

"But listen to me when I say this. It's a damn obstacle, nothing more. You can choose to let that obstacle sit in your way your whole goddamn life and not even wonder how to get around it, but that's a choice for yourself to make. You could also choose to say "Fuck this" and do whatever it takes to go under and over it and damn everything else that tries to stop you. That's what being a trooper is about, son."

Buddy's mind was drawing a blank at first. His Drill Sergeant seemed to be the first person to ever understand him, and the first person to slap him in the face with the facts about why he was miserable. He was choosing to be. Buddy didn't know quite how to respond to the Drill Sergeant, because he wanted to hug him, and he was one-hundred percent positive that wouldn't be appropriate. He looked up to make eye contact with Oliver.

"Thank you." Was all he said. But tunes of genuine gratitude were clear. Oliver nodded slightly. "Get yourself together recruit, and start fighting it." He said, turning as he exited the bunkhouse, his two assistants coming with him.

All Buddy could think, was that Oliver was a goddamn excellent drill sergeant.


End file.
